


What's For Supper?

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [17]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred





	What's For Supper?

Title: What’s For Supper?  
Author: Lady_Saddlebred ([cdelapin@yahoo.com](mailto:cdelapin@yahoo.com))  
Archive: Yes, please  
Category: Q/O, Alternate Reality, PWP

Rating: PG

Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me in School

DISCLAIMER: George Lucas owned everything, until he sold it to Disney. We own nothing, just playing in his playground.

Summary: PWP?       :D

 

My fabulous betas, Merrie and Katbear, did not review this one before posting. Any mistakes are mine.

 

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess   
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  
Fit to Print  
Daffodils  
Spring Cotillion  
Is That a Lightsaber I See Before Me  
A Pen for Your Thoughts  
When I Was Your Age  
Partners  
Mum’s the Word  
Best Laid Plans

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben came in, bone-weary, wanting only to forget the entire damned day and wake up in a century or two. Quinn regarded him from his leather armchair next to the fire, cup of tea on the side table. Bernini (or “ _Bernie_ ” as Ben insisted on calling him, to Quinn’s annoyance) wagged his tail in lazy greeting from his bed next to the hearth. Waving him to the sofa, Quinn smiled sympathetically at Ben's obvious exhaustion. "Bad day, love?"

 

"The baddest." Ben slumped onto the sofa, having first carefully removed his muddy shoes, so as not to soil the rug or the fabric -- some things were simply * ** _not_** * tolerated, others with surprising good grace. "Why on earth will those damn kids try to hack into the network servers? How do they even get access? And then I have to spend hours restoring the firewalls and getting rid of the junk they leave behind. This time it was a really nasty virus, could have wiped out the entire system if it had had a chance to really get going in there. Good thing Dean Winters finally agreed to that back-up system last month."

 

Quinn put down his pipe and rose, planting a gentle kiss on his disgruntled lover's head on the way to the kitchen.  Best to let him just relax a few minutes and vent, if needed. He'd be all right. This, too, would pass.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Ben stretched out wearily on the sofa, enjoying the warmth of the fire, of the room in general, his favorite in the house, in fact, except for the master bedroom upstairs. Warm reds and golds and deep wood tones, the silky-haired dog snoring at the hearth a perfect complement -- leave it to Quinn to choose a dog simply because “ _he went with the rug_ ,” he mused drowsily. The smell of well-oiled leather, beeswax polish and Quinn’s special blend pipe tobacco… _Nice…_

 

Sometime later, a new smell gently roused him. Spicy, warm, fragrant.  Not Quinn's tea, something... else?  Nose crinkling appreciatively, he wandered toward the kitchen at the back of the brownstone. Was Quinn * ** _cooking_** *?  God bless the man, no take-out tonight.

 

Quinn glanced up as he stirred the pot on the stove, then waved Ben to the dining room table where two places were already set, complete with wine glasses and a drippy candle stuck into a Chianti bottle. A green salad sat on the counter (with Quinn's latest experimental dressing, no doubt), and the smell of warm garlic bread wafted from the partially open oven door. Ben was pleasantly reminded of their first " _date_ ," when Quinn had made spaghetti, with vegetables pilfered from his own students' greenhouse projects. He could still taste the sauce. And he belatedly recognized the bottle as that which he had brought as a host gift, a souvenir Quinn had insisted on keeping, over Ben’s amused protests.

 

 _< Please tell me this isn’t an attempt at a big romantic seduction scene. I'm just too tired tonight... He’s gone to a lot of trouble, though. Wonder what’s up?_ _Did I miss an anniversary? > _

 

Behind him, Quinn hummed softly as he stirred, a soft dreamy tune Ben couldn't quite place.  "Mmm, smells good. What is it?"

 

"Oh, just something I found lying around the lab," Quinn murmured absently, not taking his eyes from the simmering pot in front of him.

 

Ben looked up, alarmed. "Wait, we're not having ‘ _Fricasseed Frogs in Formaldehyde’_ or something, are we?"

 

Quinn gave him a hurt look. “What * _ **do**_ * you take me for, Benjamin? Though frog legs * ** _are_** * a delicacy. I know an excellent seafood restaurant not far from here; we’ll go sometime soon. No, I only meant that I found the recipe in something I was reading in the lab a few days ago, while the class was working on an assignment.” Still chuckling, he turned back to the bubbling concoction on the stove, which smelled absolutely, positively… not bad. Not bad at all.

 

Ben relaxed, but only a little; Quinn’s quirky sense of humor was not something to be taken lightly. You never knew with these “ _mad scientist_ ” types, after all… Then he decided to play along, at least for now. “Oh, well, frog legs, now * ** _those_** * I’ve had once or twice. Not a lot of meat on them, though, and what do they do with the *rest* of the frog anyway? Donate it to the local bio lab?” He grinned and added, almost as an afterthought, “And what were you reading that you found * ** _recipes,*_ ** for Heaven’s sake?" He reached for a spoon to taste.

 

Quinn slapped his hand away, barely avoiding splattering the stove at the same time. “Ah ah, ah, no peeking. You have to wait until it’s served; it’s not ready yet. And I * ** _never_** * reveal my sources, m’lad.”

 

Actually it had been tucked discreetly inside a magazine Adele had loaned him with some interesting articles on upcoming events in the area. The recipe was neatly printed on an index card with a small fleur-de-lis in the corner, and Adele had noted on the back that she thought even Quinn could fix it without a lot of difficulty. Further, it was rumored to have certain aphrodisiacal properties, and would he be so kind as to let her know how it turned out? It was signed with a wickedly grinning “ _emoticon_ ” that left little doubt she would be sure to follow up if he didn’t. He had hurriedly tucked the card in his shirt pocket, away from curious eyes, and had had to visit the lab’s supply room for a few minutes to allow the hot blush to recede from view. The wee vixen was enjoying this new side of her friend entirely too much, somehow…

 

~ _end_ ~


End file.
